A call from P's folks yesterday reminded me we're not the only ones trapped in the Inbetween Place waiting for a new surgical date.
Like a heavy stone dropped into still water, news that we must wait for E's main physicians to coordinate their schedules yet again has rippled in many directions.
I can relate to their frustration of not knowing yet. No date means P's been reluctant to book out-of-town trips for fear he'll be overseas when news comes that E's scheduled for surgery the next day. No date means I've been reluctant to commit to long-term writing projects, not knowing what E's prognosis will be afterward.
Putting things on hold, not doing because we might have to cancel, feels wrong somehow. In bed at night, I worry that we're giving into the situation by becoming too insular, preferring to spend time at home reading, playing board games, doing the family thing. I can see the dangers of allowing this sort of thinking to take hold.
We're all right for now. As long as the docs don't keep us in this place for too much longer.